Dementor's Kiss
by EHWIES
Summary: He was gone a solid four years and returned by a stroke of chance. But Harry's reunion with Dudley only makes light of the danger the Muggle has been in since his teenage brush with Dark Magic and thus his collision with Wizardkind. HIATUS
1. Prologue

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Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or universe in which this story takes place—nor do I fully own its prologue. Much of the text below was copied directly or paraphrased from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (American, 16-19, 31): the sole difference is that the excerpt is told from Dudley's point of view. This, however, only applies to the prologue; all further chapters will be fully original in plot and phrasing.

Because my author's notes are usually pointless, I'm trying to break the habit, and this is probably one of the few you'll see in this story. Thus I'll say it collectively for all the chapters, this one and ones to come: I appreciate reviews, particularly constructive criticism, and my updates will probably be slow because of advanced classes and life in general. Apologies in advance if I follow my unfortunate trend and put this on hiatus.

**Prologue**

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless—the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

A cold, clammy sweat broke over him, and solely one word echoed emptily through Dudley Dursley's mind: _Harry_. Terrified, Dudley nervously glanced at the blackened sky above him as hopelessness stole over him, darkness pressing on his eyes like a weightless veil. No human force, no natural disaster, had the power to turn off the stars.

"W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!" Dudley stuttered into Harry's ear.

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!" Harry spat back.

Shaking, he refused to believe it and replied, "I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I—"

"I said shut up!"

Dudley eyed the empty space he thought was Harry in a would-be suspicious manner if he weren't so terrified already. Crossing his arms in response to the erupting goose bumps, he whimpered, "I'll t-tell Dad! W-where are you? What are you d-do—"

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed, "I'm trying to lis—"

Harry suddenly fell silent. Dudley opened his mouth—but no sound came out.

There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something terrible that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Trembling in the freezing air, Dudley exclaimed again (for there was no doubt in his mind that this was all Harry's doing), "C-cut it out! Stop doing that! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut—"

Dudley couldn't help but finally notice that Harry was not smug or arrogant but equally horrified… but his cousin's fear was not of the unknown but of what he seemed to be dreading. He heard another rattling breath and realized that whoever was in the alleyway was doing it—

But he acted too fast, realizing that his fist had already made contact with the side of Harry's head; a loud thud meant he had knocked Harry to the ground. "You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, but Dudley couldn't bring himself to apologize, not after fifteen years of terrorizing this boy for some sense of control to make up for the lack thereof around such strange and scary magic…

He blundered off, hitting the alley fence, stumbling, and heard Harry's voice echo through the darkness: "DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

A horrible squealing yell escaped him; Dudley halted in his tracks and felt an invisible presence just before him. Whatever it was, he was blinded to the current happenings; Harry's panicked warnings faded away as a rushing noise overpowered him. He curled up on the ground for who knows how long and threw his arms over his face, and for a moment, he thought he was safe…

Until a hand, a brittle-boned and slimy hand, clamped over his left wrist and began to pull.

Shrieking, Dudley pressed his arms closer to himself, but another hand had begun to pull on his other wrist, and he felt his arms slowly being prized apart. The cold drew nearer, and as the sense of humanity began to escape him…

For the first time, a feeling of misery escalated to such proportions that it was not blocked out by fear, and he saw—he _felt_—memories that were surely, certainly not his own.

They were mere noises at first: an unconscious sob here, a scream of terror there, again the rattling breaths coming now from his own mind…

The rattling before him was stifled as though being fed, flashing images of an island and hooded monsters darted into him, and he realized, as if from a past life, that _he was being given the Kiss_.

A flash of silver pushed aside the invisible presence, and one last thought burst into his mind before he recalled himself, from some memory of years past, in an echoing voice sounding unfamiliar and cold.

"_They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban."_


	2. The Accountant

**Chapter One**

"_I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."_

A passing whisper here, a stifled rumor there: despite their best efforts, Dudley Dursley and Mafalda Prewett could do little to ignore the strangeness infested in their village. Though Mafalda was quite talkative with everyone she met, Dudley himself was quite warier with whom he spoke and befriended. Sure, the neighbors _looked_ perfectly friendly, but Dudley couldn't help but notice the strange fashion trend of cloaks taken by most, the way people seemed to vanish on the street before having the chance to walk away…

It wasn't too noticeable, perhaps, to Mafalda, but how apparent it had become to Dudley over the years! Perhaps Mafalda's friends hid their strangeness well, but Dudley's job as an accountant at a local bank highlighted the oddities of his neighbors. Nearly everyone with whom he was familiar had difficulties using currency, try as one may to hide it. Somehow, it was more ironic yet that Mafalda was blind to this—though she herself was perfectly ordinary (much to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's delight), wouldn't her father, a fellow accountant who had introduced the two, have mentioned something?

Dudley, of course, had his own suspicions about the nature of his place of residence, but despite his utter fear of the magic probable to exist in the village, he voiced none to Mafalda, the love of his life and pedestal of normality. Outside the village, Mafalda had few friends and _never_ spoke of her family, but Dudley couldn't help but find her—well—_safe_. Perhaps calling Mafalda the love of his life was an exaggeration, but after a childhood plagued by the dangers caused by living with (dare he say the name?) _Harry Potter_, an ordinary, perfectly powerless girlfriend was the epitome of what Dudley had wanted ever since reaching his breaking point when fifteen. He missed Harry, of course—after all, his cousin _had_ saved his life on that rare occasion—but if it weren't for Harry, his life wouldn't have needed saving… or so he managed to convince himself as he gazed doubtfully at the diamond ring planted firmly in the palm of his hand.

He planned to propose tonight (_tonight!_) to his girlfriend three years inferior; the least he could do was hope that Mafalda didn't consider it rushed. She eighteen, he twenty-one, they had dated since their introduction almost a year ago and moved into the village together several months prior. She was his best shot for a life rid of any traces of the Potters, and he was fully willing to take it. Any doubts in his mind were always cleared away quickly; it wasn't as though he loathed Mafalda, even though they didn't always see eye-to-eye. Besides, they usually got on quite well, and she seemed to enjoy his presence. What reason would she have to say no?

And so, on that determined note, Dudley marched into his living room, fully prepared to pop the question then and there. Mafalda had discussed marriage with him offhand; she claimed to like the dependable sort, and as she loathed surprises and extravagance, Dudley didn't bother with the dinner date he had perhaps hoped for, simply planning to ask them in their cozy home. Sure enough, she was sitting in their overstuffed armchair, a dusty book in her lap and her nose wrinkled as usual.

"Hello, dear," greeted Dudley pleasantly, flopping on their equally overstuffed sofa with a sigh of relief: he had lost tremendous weight since adolescence but still found the notions of exercise and traveling long distances revolting. He smiled a bit as he gazed around the homey room with its peach-painted walls and mismatched furniture; his mother had screamed upon first seeing Dudley's house, having always been surgically clean herself, but Dudley took a strange liking to the contrast from his childhood.

Mafalda merely nodded in response, her eyes darting unnaturally fast across the pages. Dudley waited patiently for her to find a good pause in the novel; she did so soon enough and surveyed Dudley over spindly, crossed fingers.

A very odd thing happened in that moment: her piercing gaze struck Dudley in a way he had not been struck since his last glance at that _warlock_, Dumbly-something, and he wondered if either of them had the ability to read minds. And so he blurted without thinking the proposal before any of the preparation talk he had planned so carefully beforehand, hoping desperately that Mafalda would not be taken aback: "D'you want to get married?"

"Excuse me?" asked Mafalda coldly, though there was a touch of what was potentially happy surprise in her voice.

Blustering, Dudley hurried forward to kneel, presenting her with the ring. "Do you want—I mean, er—will you marry me?"

His grin faltered dramatically at Mafalda's curved frown and lack of response. "I hate surprises," she said instead, and Dudley couldn't help but take this as a bad sign.

"You—what?" he stuttered, feeling very much like an ignorant schoolboy at that moment.

"I can't say your proposal is one," she said as though she hadn't heard him, "but I was quite taken aback indeed when I learned of your… childhood…" Her nose wrinkled even more so at the word. Clearing her throat, she continued, "I happened to fall into unfortunate contact with my _dear_ third cousin a few weeks ago and heard the whole story."

Overwhelmed by dread, Dudley croaked, "You—you know about Harry?" _Just my luck_, he thought grimly, _and just when I thought things were looking up…_

"Only," Mafalda assured him, "because the said third cousin is his best friend, Ronald. I daresay he telephoned you once over the summer holidays? Your father answered, of course?"

It was less a curious question than flat-out mockery; Dudley gurgled, feeling much like a startled goldfish. His thoughts, rather than empty with shock, swirled too fast to put them into words: it seemed like only yesterday when he had pressed his ear to the keyhole of the kitchen door and listened to his parents discuss the Hogwarts letters they were receiving, the first blissful year with Harry gone, a snowy white owl cawing from Harry's bedroom, the catflap on Harry's door, the telephone call Mafalda had mentioned… Harry's teenage face swirled before his eyes, and he suddenly felt rather nauseated.

Not waiting for a reply any longer, Mafalda took it upon herself to go on. "I'm a witch myself, but I never went to Hogwarts. Homeschooled, you know, because my mother didn't want me out of her sight for a moment." Pursing her lips, Mafalda said with distinct irritation, "My parents were horrendous teachers and took it upon themselves to make my schooling miserable. I've wanted ever since to lead a normal, perfectly happy life and hoped that you would provide some stability… until I spoke to Ronald."

This very fast flow of information suddenly hit Dudley with striking intensity, and he stammered out, "But—but—I thought you were normal! I wanted to get away from Harry—and—and—"

"I take it we're both single now, then," said Mafalda crisply, now twiddling her thumbs with disinterest. "Unfortunately for both of us, I'm not rid of you just yet."

"You—what?" Dudley said again, only realizing after how stupid he sounded, repeating the same stammers over and over. A blush crept over him that he struggled to repress.

"Never quick to catch on to these things, were you?" laughed Mafalda. Her chuckle was not a pleasant one. "I've never met Ronald before now and wouldn't have if it weren't that Harry wanted to get in touch with you. Said it was… _important_?"

Before either of them knew it, Dudley had dropped to the ground in a dead faint.

* * *

"Dudley? Dudley, wake up."

Dudley moaned and almost involuntarily opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the blinding light. From what he could make out, he was in a spotless white room, reminding him eerily of a hospital but for the lack of surgical equipment. Cheerful sunlight streamed through the window just beside his bed, and he attempted to bury his face back into his unfamiliar pillow, shaking uncontrollably.

"Go away."

"No," came the gentle reply, and he grudgingly met the eyes of an unfamiliar redhead, probably, he figured with a groan, a witch, considering his luck as of late. Is unspoken question—_who are you?_—went answered almost instantly. "Molly Weasley, Healer," she said, smiling. "Now that I think of it, I should probably be calling you Mr. Dursley, but we can't have that, not when my daughter's engaged to your cousin."

Blearily, Dudley tried to make sense of her words. "Your—Harry—engaged?" he spluttered thickly, waving his hands wildly as though this would clarify his question.

She nodded, and the grin faded. "Blimey," muttered Molly dryly, "and he told me you were improving…"

Dudley wisely chose not to press the matter as Molly smoothed his covers, twiddling a wand between her fingers. "Where am I?" he asked simply, eliciting the return of her smile.

"St. Mungo's Hospital," said Molly darkly. "It's a Wizarding hospital—I had to pull a few strings to stop them from erasing your memory of this place. Mafalda apparently tried to revive you with magic after you fainted—"

"I didn't faint!" interrupted Dudley indignantly, almost by instinct.

Smiling knowingly, Molly said, "Passed out, then. Anyway, seems that she hasn't done magic long enough to still retain the ability, so she did more harm than good, panicked, and took you here. She said something about Harry wanting to see you before she left for Godric's Hollow; _why_ that place hasn't been investigated for charges against the Statute of Secrecy I can't imagine…"

Molly spoke on in this way until Dudley finally had the strength to sit up. Molly beamed. "Good, you're all right; there shouldn't be any need to keep you longer. I'm on duty, obviously, but Harry got off work a few minutes ago and promised to Apparate in to check on you. He mentioned something about taking you to The Three Broomsticks for a chat; must be lovely, it's been a long four years for you, I take it? Certainly has been for me, what with getting my Healing degree and all, I haven't had a chance until my children graduated—"

Dudley was saved from further conversation (he was beginning to get the feeling that Molly, though obviously kind, was a bit of a chatterbox) when a loud _crack!_ echoed through the room. Dudley glanced quickly to the source of commotion… and found himself staring into the smirking face of Harry Potter.


	3. Sapped Of Her Powers

_a fan—Humor and romance are my absolute worst genres, hence why Dudley won't be very funny and things didn't work out with Mafalda. Sorry._

Reviews would be very much appreciated, especially considering that I'm alerted by far more readers than I'm used to on this story. I'd also like to shamelessly plug my two Marauder-era one-shots, "Interlude" and "Dusk". (So sue me.) So thanks in advance, I guess :)!

**Chapter Two**

_"Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen."_

Harry, Dudley noted, had changed since they parted four years prior—though his appearance remained the same, he certainly treated Dudley with respect that hadn't been present in his childhood or Hogwarts years. Dudley hardly recognized the occasional grin Harry flashed, aimed for him and yet not condescending, not false. Perhaps the dementors had knocked a new personality into him, Dudley supposed wildly, for he found himself considering that he perhaps should have kept in touch; he found himself considering that magic wasn't as dreadful as his parents had raised him to believe, that there was some sort of odd intrigue in hearing Harry explain more thoroughly how he defeated Lord Voldemort to bring both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds to safety.

"After Voldemort's downfall, of course, things were still a bit chaotic, as our Ministry hadn't recovered from how corrupt it was before," Harry continued, perching on the edge of Dudley's hospital bed. "Kingsley Shacklebolt was elected as Minister of Magic and did a terrific job tidying things up after that—bringing Muggle-borns out of hiding, figuring out who supported Voldemort and who was just under the Imperius Curse—"

"The what?" Dudley interrupted, bewildered, and raked a hand through his thin mop of blonde hair.

Harry smiled again, but it was tinged with sadness this time. "The Imperius Curse lets you completely control someone's actions. It's extremely difficult to repel and has no countercurse, but a natural ability at Occlumency—that's self-defense against invasion of your thoughts by blocking out intruders—usually keeps you from remaining fully under the curse's control."

Curiously, Dudley asked, "Have you ever been put under it?"

Harry nodded. "Twice, and I repelled its effects without practice. Funny because I was horrible at Occlumency until recently—not that there's a lasting need for it. It's still good to be practiced in self-defense because of rogue Death Eaters still out there, though."

"Those are Lord—Voldything's supporters, right? The bad guys?" asked Dudley, screwing up his face in thought. Learning so much about a completely new world at once was hard enough, let alone Dudley's poor memory.

"Yeah—a few are still safely in hiding, not to mention that redefining the Ministry was obviously a slow process, so defense is still important for the time being. Kingsley figured that you and my aunt and uncle might be targeted, so we kept you guys secure, though—"

Dudley interrupted again: "But Kingsley talked to Mum and Dad and said Lord Volmedort was gone! That's why they let me move to Godric's Hollow—"

"Godric's Hollow is a mostly Wizarding community and the birthplace of one of the founders of Hogwarts," said Harry brightly. "Kingsley had them suggest it because you'd be surrounded by more noble wizards."

"Oh," Dudley mumbled, feeling rather stupid, and quieted for the time being.

He remained silent as Harry told Dudley of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army to great lengths, as well as their protection because of Harry's sacrifice in the battle at Hogwarts. It still felt odd to listen to Harry's tales, not only because magic felt so foreign to him but also because he, Dudley, felt to belong to such a boring and uneventful world in comparison. After attending a separate private school for a year in hiding, he'd really done nothing but move to Godric's Hollow, meet Mafalda, and begin working as an accountant.

And Harry knew all about his life already, didn't he? Working at the Ministry, he'd kept a watchful eye over the Dursleys, planning Dudley's move to Godric's Hollow, setting up his job with a relative of the Weasleys, introducing him to the witch who would one day be his girlfriend… though not anymore, he noted bitterly, before a fleeting thought mentioned by Molly occurred to Dudley once again.

"Molly—Mrs. Weasley—she said that Mafalda hurt me by trying to revive me with magic…?"

"Oh. Yes," said Harry grimly, and Dudley couldn't help but notice his face fall. "No one can be completely sure what happened back there, as Mafalda's somewhat in shock and refuses to say exactly which spells were used—probably Ennervate first, but others after—"

"Huh?"

Sighing, Harry said softly, "As Mrs. Weasley told you earlier, Mafalda hasn't used magic in a very, very long time due to contempt at the Wizarding world. We think—based on what's happened before in Mafalda's case, we think she's lost the ability to control her magic, and her spells rather backfired on you. This inability hasn't reached its lowest point yet—that was last exhibited by Ariana Dumbledore and led to the death of her and her mother—but Mafalda could well end up a danger to herself and those around her."

"She can't control magic? What do you mean?" stuttered Dudley, suddenly overcome by a gripping fear. He hadn't fallen head over heels for Mafalda, it was true, but he had planned to marry her, had he not? She was still in his life, and he still somewhat cared about her…

"Let's just say that magic has a mind of its own in some cases, like Mafalda's," murmured Harry. "Do you feel back to normal yet?"

Dudley averted Harry's eyes and pulled himself into a sitting position. "Fine, just a little tired," he admitted. "Can I get going now? Weren't you going to take me to that place—The Three Broomsticks, was it?"

"Yeah," said Harry, and he relaxed, visibly relieved. "Transportation could be an issue because it's in Hogsmeade, which usually isn't visible to Muggles, but based on some principle or other, you should be able to get there by Side-Along Apparition. I mean, as long as you're not the one responsible for transportation…"

He cut himself off, noticing Dudley's omnipresent confusion, and said instead of further explanation, "Just take my arm, and don't be alarmed if this feels painful. It'll be over in a matter of seconds."

With a shrug, Dudley stood shakily and took Harry's arm, feeling rather awkward and nervous all at once… perhaps because magic itself still made him uneasy, perhaps because he was trusting Harry for the first time since he was fifteen… darkness, compression, and they had arrived.


	4. Moldering Old Ruin

**Chapter Three**

_"If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE."_

The Three Broomsticks turned out to be the most crowded pub Dudley had ever entered. The place was crammed full of witches and wizards all wearing those odd robes Harry was always wearing, noisily chattering at the tables pressed so close together. Eyes flickered to the pair as they entered with a loud CRACK, and their gazes lingered, making Dudley feel immensely uncomfortable.

"Why're they staring at us?" Dudley muttered as Harry grabbed his arm and squeezed through the crowd to an empty table in the back. Harry didn't answer, though, just told him to wait and returned with two tankards of some sort of foaming drink.

"I'm famous," said Harry matter-of-factly, though Dudley didn't miss the blush and downcast of his eyes in embarrassment. "And you're a Muggle—I reckon you're the first Muggle there's ever been here. It's the only all-wizard settlement in Britain, you know."

Dudley shrugged indifferently, still feeling highly uncomfortable, and eyed the tankards warily. Harry seemed to notice Dudley's uneasiness for the first time and smiled faintly. "That's butterbeer, not poison."

Nodding, Dudley put the tankard to his lips and drank somewhat cautiously: he _was_ still wary of this world, after all. The butterbeer was delicious, though, and he grinned at Harry after taking a deep gulp of it.

Harry followed suit, and they drank amidst small talk for a while—Harry, surprisingly, seemed interested in Dudley's life: as interested as the boy who saved the world could be, at least. No—Harry was a man now, Dudley corrected himself, he's not still the little boy you like to bully on the playground. He wished for a fleeting instant that he never had been.

Harry noticed Dudley's hesitation after a moment. "What is it?" he asked, fidgeting slightly in his seat.

Dudley smiled weakly. "Nothing. I just…" He trailed off. "You saved my life."

"I know."

Dudley shook his head furiously. "No, it's…" He took another swig of butterbeer before continuing. "You saved the _world_, Harry, my life can't be important in comparison. You don't… when the denemors… you didn't hear what I heard."

The ensuing silence was all the more awkward when muffled by the cheer of the pub. "What _did_ you hear, Dud?" asked Harry very hesitantly. Dudley noticed the edge of curiosity in his voice.

"Screaming," he said finally. "Crying. Some sort of prison… it was on an island, I think. Pain…"

Harry's mouth had fallen open. "But that's not possible," he said firmly, though it seemed he was trying to convince himself more than Dudley. "It's… but you've never been to Azkaban before. You can't have…"

"There was a voice," Dudley added at an afterthought. Harry glanced at him fervently.

"What voice?"

"'They guard the wizard's prison, Azkaban,'" Dudley quoted, impersonating the oily voice that had said it. "No idea what that means, but—"

Harry downed the remaining half of his tankard in one swallow. "Come on," he said, standing abruptly.

"What?" asked Dudley, thoroughly confused, but he finished his butterbeer as well.

"I think," said Harry slowly, "you were given the start of the Kiss."

* * *

They were in the castle now—the entrance hall, to be exact. It was an old but majestic place, and Dudley could see now why Harry adored Hogwarts so much. It had taken effort to reach the castle, though; all Dudley had seen was an abandoned ruin before he suddenly realized he should have been at work. "Muggle-repelling charms," Harry had told him firmly before dragging him across the lawn against his will. "Come _on_, we have to hurry."

"What's the problem?" Dudley asked, completely stymied now. He was rubbing his arm, sore from where Harry had grabbed it, and following Harry up staircase after staircase. "Is this kiss thing really such a big deal?"

"_Yes_," said Harry urgently, finally stopping at a statue of a gargoyle. He stopped dead, then cussed violently.

"_Harry_—"

"I don't know the password," he said, swearing quieter this time. He checked his watch. "Seven PM—they might still be in the Great Hall."

And Dudley had no choice but to follow Harry back the way they had come.

They reached the entrance hall again, and Harry warned Dudley to brace himself before throwing open the doors before them. Dudley gasped: it was an enormous room with a starry ceiling and five long tables at which students and teachers were seated at what could only be called a feast. Heads turned, whispers passed, but Harry paid them no mind, marching purposely to the table where the teachers seemed to be sitting.

It felt like hours before they finally had crossed the length of the hall. Dudley gawked behind Harry helplessly as his cousin walked up to a round-faced man who looked quite startled. "Neville," Harry said in a desperate whisper, "I need to speak with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It's important."

The man—Neville—nodded to his left. "Professor Black," he said quietly.

Harry stopped dead. "You mean—_Andromeda_?" Neville nodded uncomfortably. "You mean Teddy's _here_, in the castle?" Another nod. "McGonagall _allows_ that?"

"Apparently," said Neville as quietly as he could. All eyes were on them now. "If it's really that important, you might want to talk to her now, you know…"

Harry thanked Neville with a flustered smile and pulled Dudley toward this Andromeda character, a woman with soft brown hair, heavy-lidded eyes, and a slightly benign expression. "Dromeda," he muttered in an undertone, "I need to talk to you as soon as possible."

She nodded at them, not questioning Dudley's presence. "Meet me in my office after the feast. You know where it is, yes?"

"Yeah," said Harry quickly. "Thanks."

They stayed in the Hall for the rest of the feast, all eyes still upon them, but Dudley enjoyed the scrumptious dessert all the same. He'd been dieting, mostly because of Mafalda's insistence, and it felt wonderful to at long last have more than one helping of everything. He struggled not to look too impressed when the food vanished, leaving his plate sparkling clean, but couldn't resist asking Harry in an undertone how such magic was possible as he followed Harry through the corridors.

It was a while before they reached Andromeda's office, and Dudley couldn't help but take a curious look around. It was filled with menacing-looking creatures and spellbooks with titles nonsensical to him, but the magical atmosphere was enticing all the same. Harry himself glanced through the titles on the bookshelves, smiling faintly at those he recognized, and didn't look at all as startled as Dudley when the door suddenly closed with a snap.

"You wished to speak with me?" Andromeda asked quietly.

"Yes," said Harry, nodding. "I—I think the dementors might be after my cousin."


	5. Wizard Baruffio

_A/N: I know that J.K. Rowling stated that the posts of DADA professor and Headmaster were taken over by completely new professors, but I'm not big on OCs, so I just used McGonagall and a canon character instead. Hope you don't mind—bit of a paradox, going against canon in favor of canon characters, isn't it?_

_I'm posting this chapter earlier than usual mostly out of shock at what a popular reaction last chapter had: I've gotten 600 hits over around 48 hours, giving DK a jump from fourth most read to second most read story on my account, and I've gotten three reviews, been added to two favorites lists, and been added to six people's alerts. I'm mostly happy about the hits and alerts: this is my most-alerted story by over double the second-most, and I'm really quite stunned that so many people are interested. I occasionally have enough inspiration to write two chapters in a row, and that happened to be the case here, so I'm posting now instead of waiting as a thank-you to you guys. Please leave a review--I really appreciate the feedback and support!_

**Chapter Four**

"_Never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."_

Andromeda was taken aback for perhaps fifteen seconds before she regained her composure. "Because of the incident in Little Whinging?"

"What _else_?" sighed Harry exasperatedly. Dudley was positive he saw white outlines of words on the back of Harry's clenched fist but said nothing—he knew he wouldn't understand this conversation, anyway. "I think they gave the start of the Kiss—"

"But the Dementor's Kiss has no survivors!" said Andromeda, incredulously, at once.

Harry shook his head slowly. "They must have only started it; he didn't see his worst memories but instead must have started absorbing _their_ memories," he mused. "And there was one—something Snape said to my mother once—"

Something changed in Andromeda's face; her gaze softened into one of surprise. "It's happened _before_? To one of _them_?"

"Must have. I want to look into it—" Harry started, his brow furrowed, but Andromeda cut him off.

"No, no, our first concern has to be your cousin's safety—Dudley, was it?"

Dudley flushed and looked at his feet.

"Yes, of course, but I…" said Harry, leaning against the shelf. "If we look into any past incidents of partial Kisses, we might be able to help defend Dudley."

Andromeda doubtfully began, "But—"

"My parents escaped Voldemort three times!" Harry cried out in a sudden outburst. "Dementors could have attacked them once—if we figure out what happened when it was my mom—!"

"You're jumping to conclusions, Harry," snapped Andromeda. "Think rationally, think for Dudley's _safety_—do you want him dead or not?"

Dudley, now glancing back and forth between them as he watched the exchange unfold, couldn't shake off a growing sense of unease. He wasn't sure how Harry's parents played into the matter, but regardless of what his cousin was referring to, Dudley didn't know who to believe: the cousin who saved his life or the obvious voice of reason? He knew Harry, knew his somewhat obsessive nature, and yet…

"Of course I don't," said Harry with a sigh, clearly defeated. "I just…"

"It can wait," said Andromeda in a clear tone of finalty. "In the meantime—he hasn't been found by them since, has he?"

Harry glanced to Dudley, who shook his head, still struck dumb.

Harry smiled weakly in assent, then turned back to Andromeda. "Not that I know of—I would have been told if it happened while he was in hiding, and if a stray one came across Godric's Hollow, a wizard would have cast a Patronus Charm, I'm sure."

"Then we need to put our every effort into stopping them getting him," Andromeda decided briskly. "They don't like being defeated, dementors."

"That's what I thought," Harry confirmed grimly. "I thought you could help us—you obviously know a lot about the Dark Arts—"

Andromeda's eyes darkened; she looked now almost like a different person. "Harry, I grew up in a family full of Dark magic; how could I not?"

"Right—sorry—" Harry stuttered awkwardly. Dudley was now positive there was more to the story than the surface they were now scraping.

Whatever it was, she waved it off. "It's nothing. Go on."

"And even aside from your post, Tonks is—was—in the Order, and your house was protected, so you have prior experience."

Andromeda sighed heavily. "Won't help us now; that was only against, well, humans. And dementors aren't exactly—"

"Oh. Right," he mumbled, embarrassed.

She continued, "I do know that dementors can't be killed, but now that they're out of Azkaban… it's only a rumor, but I've heard the Unspeakables are working on a way to detain dementors such that they can't feed on memories, something that lasts long enough that they just… wither away."

There was a pause as Dudley struggled to comprehend whatever this meant; Harry's mind was obviously elsewhere. "It sounds ideal, but we don't have time to wait—Dudley needs protection _now_," he said at long last.

"Best bet we have is to surround him with witches and wizards trained in the Patronus Charm," Andromeda said thoughtfully. "It's lucky you've already moved him to Godric's Hollow, really."

"Right, yeah…"

Awkward silence followed the decision, Dudley biting his lip uneasily. It was a while before Andromeda broke the tension with a laugh that rang out comfortingly. "Does he _ever_ talk?" she asked, but she smiled amiably at Dudley when he looked up at her.

"Occasionally," said Harry with a grin. "So what's the plan? Go back to Godric's Hollow and see if the Ministry has anything that could help us?"

"You may want to wait until morning; I'm sure there's a spare bedroom here or there that Minerva wouldn't mind letting you borrow," said Andromeda, herself yawning through her words. "That all right with you, Dudley?" she asked, addressing him for the first time all night.

"Y-yeah," he stuttered, but he did meet her eyes.

"Excellent," Andromeda said cheerily. "Let's find a decent place for you two to sleep, then. _Lumos_," she added casually as they headed into the darkened corridor.

Their sleeping quarters, it turned out, were much better than merely "decent". The Headmistress and Transfiguration teacher, Minerva McGonagall, had led them to her old bedroom from before her promotion; there were two beds rather than one with a wave of her wand (Dudley gaped openly). Though the mattress was somewhat firmer than Dudley was used to, and the furniture certainly had severe edges, the room still had an elegant sort of air about it, and Harry left Dudley to his leisurely inspection as he changed in the bathroom—McGonagall had provided them with some of the former Headmaster, Dumbledore's, old pajamas. Albeit Dudley wasn't particularly fond of the floral pattern, they _were_ soft against the skin.

Dudley edged somewhat apprehensively toward Harry's abandoned wand. Surely it wouldn't _hurt_ just to hold it… it wasn't like he was a wizard or something. So, feeling rather foolish, he took hold of it and twiddled it between his fingers, not surprised when nothing at all happened.

But then… hadn't McGonagall used some sort of spell to enlarge their room and make room for Dudley's bed? _Defodio_? _Desodio_?

"_Desodio_," Dudley muttered, waving the wand wildly…

And gasping in shock before recoiling, horrified at the buffalo that had just crashed into the room.


	6. Real Need

**Chapter Five**

"_Because it is a room that a person can only enter when they have real need of it."_

Harry burst out of the bathroom immediately, gaping at the ridiculous scene before him in alarm, and simply stood there for a moment or two, eyes wide. Dudley himself was inching toward the wall, mouth open in horror as the buffalo snorted in surprise and stared down at Dudley in what appeared to be a menacing manner. As Dudley gave a small, pig-like squeak of terror, Harry seemed to come to himself… and promptly exploded into laughter.

"HARRY!" shrieked Dudley as the buffalo looked between Harry and Dudley and came running in Dudley's direction, apparently finding Harry the more threatening of the two. Dudley squeaked again and ducked out of the way, his ears still ringing with Harry's laughing. "HARRY, DO SOMETHING!"

"I'm sorry," Harry gasped, clutching his stomach, face contorted. "It's just… Professor Flitwick… and…"

"TELL ME LATER!" Dudley yelled, pressed up against the wall, frozen in terror. "I'M—GOING—TO—BE—EATEN—BY—A—BUFFALO!"

Harry only laughed harder. "Buffalos are herbivores, Dud," he said, breathing deeply, still clutching the stitch in his side. "It's not going to hurt you."

"HARRY, I JUST DID MAGIC!" he shrieked, hands clamped over his bottom out of habit. Harry's laughs stopped abruptly. "GET RID OF IT!"

Harry leapt forward, grabbed his fallen wand, and pointed it at the buffalo, which was now crashing into furniture as it tried to run from the boys now together. "EVANESCO!" he bellowed, and with no fanfare whatsoever, the buffalo was gone, leaving Dudley against the wall, staring in shock into the empty space left behind.

"What did you say?" Harry asked quietly, now eyeing the wand furtively. Dudley didn't answer. "Dudley, _what did you say_?"

"I don't want it to come back," Dudley muttered, now blushing furiously.

Harry's tense frame relaxed ever so slightly. "It's not going to if you aren't holding the wand, Dudley. Which spell was it?"

"The one that woman… McGonagall… used," Dudley mumbled, not meeting Harry's eyes. "_Desodio_."

"_Desodio_? Oh—Defodio. Oh, of _course_…" Harry seemed lost in his own world for a moment. "Flitwick—that was my Charms teacher—he said something about buffalos appearing if you say 's' instead of 'f'. You must have mixed up the letters."

Dudley was still breathing hard, but he tentatively let his arms fall to the side, leaning his head against the wall now. "I just did magic," he repeated in a whisper to himself. "I did magic…"

Harry sat on the now-battered bed slowly, transfixed. "We can't tell anyone about this, Dudley," he said quietly. "_No one_. Not until we understand how it happened. All right?"

Dudley nodded, at a loss for words, and met Harry's eyes fearfully. "What now?" he asked softly.

Harry sighed heavily. "We stay in the castle," he said finally, and again, as though formulating a plan on the spot: "We stay in the castle and tell _no one_ about this, we can't have you subjected to research if word gets out when you need to be protected. It's the first day of term… I'll put out a story that I'm staying for my last year of Hogwarts. It'll make sense because I only finished Auror training last week. You've broken up with Mafalda, so no one will be suspicious if you don't return to Godric's Hollow."

"But… where will I stay?" asked Dudley, blinking. "We can't keep using this room… right? They'll find out."

To Dudley's great surprise, Harry smiled. "Simple," he said easily. "The Room of Requirement."

-

It was strange, twiddling a wand between his fingers so carelessly and marveling that he could do _magic_, draw things out of midair and destroy in the blink of an eye and create. But he wasn't a wizard—he knew he wasn't a wizard from the way even the simplest spells were weak and the Room of Requirement wouldn't do his bidding. Harry had made comfortable provisions, and yet… something was wrong, something was amiss, something was _off_.

Andromeda had become his tutor, teaching him to cast what feeble a Patronus he could. Even with no dementor present, it was difficult—too difficult—he could not manage. Harry was in the castle as well, finishing his seventh year as a cover: "It makes sense because I only just finished my Auror training," Harry explained, and Dudley nodded, despite knowing nothing of which Harry spoke.

But life at Hogwarts was not without its perks. In spite of his lingering fear, it was somewhat fascinating to read about the history of magic in the books left by Andromeda; he ate at the Hog's Head for two meals of three. All that was really missing was a friend—but—

"DUDDYKINS!"

Apparently, his social life was covered as well in the form of a four-year-old orphan wizard inordinately fond of teddy bears.

"Hello, Teddy," said Dudley rather uncomfortably; he'd never been that relaxed around the more innocent children, even as one himself. Teddy Lupin, it seemed, was Andromeda's grandson, Harry's godson, and equally new to the castle: Andromeda had only just begun her first year of work as a professor. "How was your day?"

"Good!" exclaimed Teddy enthusiastically, and he was off, raving about his latest escapades around the floor of the castle to which he was confined. Dudley listened only halfheartedly, letting his mind wander until—"And Mummy took me to the kitchens, and you should _see_ the elves and the food and the—it's _amazing_!"

Dudley started. "Elves?" he asked somewhat cautiously. Harry hadn't mentioned anything about other magical creatures before. "Elves… _here_?"

Teddy nodded, evidently thrilled. "And they're all really nice, they give me _whatever_ I ask for, but I try not to be greedy because Daddy tells me not to."

Dudley smiled weakly. "That's great, Teddy," he said encouragingly. "Any chance you want to go again with me and Mummy sometime?"

A smile broke out on Teddy's face, and Dudley couldn't help but wonder whether this could have been Harry under the care of Lily and James.

_Lily and James_—the names sounded foreign to him even now. He hadn't known the names of his aunt and uncle until Harry had learned that he was a wizard; after a fair amount of prying, Petunia had told Dudley that they'd met once, when Dudley was a child, but he held no recollection of it whatsoever. His parents had always insisted that Harry's parents had been awful, but if what Harry—and everyone else in this world—said was true…

And what had even _become_ of Harry? He'd gone from a quiet, vulnerable boy to such a leader in the blink of the eye; even when he came of age, Harry hadn't been nearly this assertive. Dudley was happy for his cousin—self-confidence had never hurt anyone—but it was still _strange_ to meet such an entirely new person. Besides, he felt the occasional twinge of guilt that such changes had only taken place when Dudley had left Harry's life… but that _couldn't_ be true; he'd only seen Harry over the summers for years and hardly was a blip on his cousin's radar.

"Duddy?"

As he tore himself from his thoughts, Dudley couldn't help but think: _he had to know_.


End file.
